


Real Or Not Real

by isthisenoughorcanwegohigher



Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Yes it Is, is this inspired by the hunger games??, specifically peeta mellark?, suicide mention trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 12:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18073124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthisenoughorcanwegohigher/pseuds/isthisenoughorcanwegohigher
Summary: Ever since WCKD, Minho struggles to discern dreams from reality. Gally is the only one who can help him stay grounded.





	Real Or Not Real

_The spear was heavy in his hand. The wood cut into his palm, which was slick with sweat. His gaze was locked on Gally, who was trembling and cocking the gun in his hand, aiming it at Thomas._

_Minho’s heart clenched as Gally pulled the trigger. He’d been hoping Thomas might get through to the terrified builder, but Gally’s mind was set. The gunshot echoed around the lab. Milliseconds before the gun went off, the spear had flown from Minho’s grip._

_Both things happened at once–Chuck knelt to the ground and whispered Thomas’s name, the blood spreading quickly across his shirt, and Gally fell to the ground, the spear embedded deep in his chest._

_Gally coughed once, twice. His hands reached up to the spear before they fell to his sides, his head dipping to the ground as he slide onto his side. As Gally collapsed to the floor, Minho watched as his face rippled and changed. Then it was Newt’s vacant gaze staring at him, it was Newt’s chest that the spear was stuck in, it was Newt that Minho had killed, Newt wasn’t breathing, and a burst of terror gripped at Minho’s heart._

“No!” Minho cried, jolting up in his bed, his fingers clutching at the sheets, his forehead slick with sweat. “No,” he repeated, his gaze flitting around the small space around him. 

He loosened his grip on the sheets and clenched his fists tightly. His nails dug into his palms and he felt the sting of pain that meant he’d broken skin again. Not that Minho minded the pain, exactly. It was something he’d started doing when he felt his heart rate pick up and his thoughts start to ripple with questions. The pain grounded him, reminded him that no matter how much it hurt, no matter how shitty it was, this was his reality.

A figure appeared in the doorway. “You alright, shank?”

Gally. It was always Gally.

Minho unclenched his fists and wiped his palms on his pants. “Fine,” he said dully.

Gally snorted. He walked up to Minho’s bed and handed Minho the mug of water before he sank to the ground. “You’re terrible at lying,” he said idly. “Was it the same dream?”

Minho’s fingers grasped at the mug. He raised it to his mouth and took a small sip, the liquid gracing his throat and easing the soreness that always accompanied the nights Minho managed to fall asleep.

“Yeah,” he finally said. “It was the same.” There was a beat of silence. “It’s always the same.”

Gally’s features softened, an expression he reserved for these late nights when Minho woke up screaming. “I know.”

“Is this real?” 

The question wasn’t new, but the storm of emotions that passed across Minho’s face every time he asked it never failed to make Gally wince.

“It’s real,” Gally responded, his gaze on Minho.

A pained noise tore itself from Minho’s throat, and the boy’s body shook as he started crying. Tears dripped down his face and he wiped them away with his palms, leaving a streak of blood on his cheeks.

“Did you hurt yourself again?” Gally asked sharply, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the blood left behind on Minho’s face.

“Yeah,” Minho said. His voice was hoarse despite the water. He sniffled.

“Okay, come on.” Gally stood up and grabbed Minho’s wrist. “Let’s get your hands cleaned and bandaged.”

Aside from the occasional whimper, Minho was quiet as Gally led him to the safe haven’s medical tent.

Inside the tent, Minho took a seat next to the basin of water as Gally gathered gauze and wet a towel.

“It’s my fault,” Minho whispered as Gally gently dabbed the blood from Minho’s palms. “I wasn’t fast enough.”

Gally’s grip on Minho’s wrist tightened. “You know Newt wouldn’t want you to blame yourself,” he said, his tone harsher than he meant for it to be.

Minho winced, but he wasn’t ready to relent yet. “I should have been faster,” he replied. “I knew Newt was sick, and I didn’t push myself.”

“You’d spent months being drugged and drained of your blood, you shuck idiot.” Gally set the towel on edge of the basin and began wrapping Minho’s hands. “You couldn’t have been faster, no matter how much you wanted to be.”

“It’s my fault,” Minho huffed, his tone that of a petulant child’s.

“Slim it,” Gally said. He looked up and met Minho’s gaze. “I mean it, slinthead. Newt would hate to see you blaming yourself for this. It’s not what he would want.”

Minho stiffened. “You don’t know what he would want,” he snapped.

“Maybe not, but I know that either way you shouldn’t be beating yourself up for it,” Gally retorted.

Minho closed his eyes tightly and shook his head. “I don’t want this to be real.”

“Tough.”

Minho’s eyes snapped open and he settled a fierce gaze on Gally. “Even WCKD never came up with anything this bad when they…It was never this bad. I could always wake up and know that wherever he was, Newt was safe.”

“Minho….”

Minho cut across Gally, his eyes blazing. “Now I have to wake up and go through every day knowing that reality is worse than all the crap WCKD put me through, because I can’t wake up from this and know that Newt is safe and alive, because he’s buried here. He’s gone, and I couldn’t save him, and I hate living with that.”

“Live with that?” Gally’s voice was sharp. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

“You know exactly what I mean.”

An unreadable expression twisted Gally’s face. He stood and paced in front of Minho, his eyes dark. “Minho, you don’t mean that. We both know you don’t mean that.”

“You might think that, but I sure don’t know that.”

“So what, you shank, you’re going to kill yourself? Join Newt in whatever afterlife there is? And what, leave the rest of us to deal with the aftermath?” Gally questioned.

“Shut up, Gally,” Minho whispered.

“You’re just going to off yourself, are you? Shove a knife into your chest? What would that do to Thomas, huh? To Brenda? Frypan? Hell, what about me?”

“Shut up.”

“Do you really only care about how Newt’s death affects you? Do you not shucking care about the rest of us? After everything, you don’t think we don’t feel as badly about Newt being gone as you do?” The harshness of Gally’s voice had Minho flinching away from his friend.

“Shut up! Of course I care!” Minho rose and shoved Gally, his eyes blazing in equal parts hurt and fury. “Of course I care, you shank!”

“Then stop talking about killing yourself!” Gally responded, his own gaze hardening.

For several moments, the only sound was the ragged breathing of both boys.

“Minho,” Gally said, his voice softening, “please. I know it’s hard. But we’re all here for you. Please, let us help you.”

The fight drained from Minho as quickly as it had flooded him. “I just wish this wasn’t real,” he whispered, his voice breaking. He sank to his knees and his body trembled.

Gally sank down next to him and pulled the boy into a hug. “I know,” he said. “I know. But just because this isn’t real doesn’t mean it can’t be good.”

The pair was silent for a while, both drinking in the comfort of being together.

“Let me help you make it good,” Gally murmured, his voice breathy against Minho’s neck.

Minho sniffled and leaned back to look at Gally. “Deal,” he said. “Gally….”

Gally shushed Minho and pulled him back into a tight embrace. “Things are gonna be okay, yeah?”

“Yeah.”


End file.
